Disclaimer: I am in no way ass enough to claim that I own anything even remotely connected to Watchmen, or that I really have any business writing these characters. To be honest, writing Watchmen fanfiction feels like dropping my pants and mooning Olympus. However, I am but one humble nobody of a fan, so hopefully Moore and DC and all other relevant Powers That Be won't bother to have me hunted down by legions of superhero assassins.
Note: I do not post the vast majority of what I write to this website, but welcome anyone interested in other random ficbits to wander on over to the link in my profile.
Standing Watch
It was hard to say what time it was. Not that they lacked access to a watch - they each wore one, although Nite Owl's was more like something you'd see packaged with an action figure. No, the problem with being entirely sure what time it was was that neither of them really wanted to know anymore. It was that late.
Not only was it that late, but they were on stakeout. Not only were they on stakeout, they were on stakeout on the second floor of an abandoned building that gave up its last unbroken window long ago. It was also January, which helped not at all.
Nite Owl wished he'd picked a different window. This one had an okay view of the empty lot destined to be the scene of a very illegal transaction, sure, but that was about all it had a view of. Not that he'd wish to be sitting across from the window of an attractive woman's apartment or anything either. Rorschach had a way of filling an entire room with disapproval without saying a word, and that took all the fun out of it.
There weren't even any arguments to overhear, which was nigh-unthinkable in this neighborhood. No fistfights, no yelling at neighbors out an open window, no shoes being thrown at cats. There weren't any cats, either. Everybody was indoors, their windows shut tight against the cold, and in all probability they were all asleep too. Nite Owl could thus only assume that everyone else on the entire planet had more sense than he and his partner combined.
He stretched his arms briefly before leaning forward again, arms folded over the back of the old backward-facing chair. The weight of his heavy winter coat was comforting, even if it did also make him wish this mess was over with already so he could go home and go to bed. Fighting crime was one thing, and heroism was also one thing, but this was another thing - a thing that was starting to get ridiculous.
Shifting slightly, he reached up and touched his goggles without particularly thinking about it. The routine had long ago become automatic: press here, rotate the lenses a quarter turn until they clicked back into place, and then he could see...well, still nothing.
A car drove by, deliberately obeying the speed limit just to taunt him. He clicked the lenses again.
Click.
Click.
Cliiick.
He was starting to find the sound funny, and that worried him.
Click.
It didn't take nightvision to see Rorschach, just barely visible out of the corner of his eye, very slowly turning in his direction. Nite Owl wondered if the view from the other window was any better.
Click.
"Daniel."
"What?"
There was a long, long pause. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he clicked his goggles one more time, Rorschach was going to jump over that broken-down file cabinet and bludgeon him to death with his own chair.
...
...
...
Click.
Rorschach shot to his feet and stalked towards the other end of the room, possibly to avoid jumping over the broken-down file cabinet and bludgeoning Nite Owl to death with his own chair.
The aforementioned Owl, who remained unbludgeoned, lowered his head to his folded arms and started to laugh. "I hate stakeouts."
"Most people do."
"Do you?"
"I'm seriously considering it."
For some reason that was the funniest moment of the whole night, a fact which Rorschach did not seem to appreciate in the slightest.